


The Tower

by soriso



Series: The Princess and the Dragon [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Femme, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Translation, alternative universe, canon compliant at some point, with some neccessary alterations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soriso/pseuds/soriso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chivalric romance set in the world of Dragon Age. What if Cassandra and Trevelyan had met before, back when Cassandra was a dragon hunter, and Trevelyan a humble Circle mage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Wieża](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954891) by [le_mru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_mru/pseuds/le_mru). 



> It's a translation of a Polish fic currently being written by le-mru and published here, on AO3. She started it before some pieces of information from _The World of Thedas_ were known, that's why there may be some things here that aren't canon compliant. All the canon alterations (besides Anthony being younger than Cassandra) will be explained sooner or later and it's all gonna come together neatly, I promise.
> 
> ETA: as of November 2016 this part was edited for mistakes. That said, I am sure plenty of them are still in the text. Maybe in a 1000 years or so I'll finally manage to correct them all.

> Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly  
>                                                            flames everywhere.  
>  I can tell already you think I’m the dragon,  
>                  that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon.  
>  I’m not the princess either.

Richard Siken, _Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out_

 

Wildervale was surrounded by gently rolling hills covered with cornfields. Put at ease by this bucolic scenery, not one person from the group returning from the archaeological expedition to Ostwick expected to see a giant, motley dragon vigorously stomping over oats and buckwheat. The dragon, for her part, didn’t really care for the mages’ opinion regarding her presence there: determined, she charged ahead, laying waste to crops and even one chalet that unfortunately happened to stand in her way.

It became clear after a while that the dragon wasn’t alone. A group of heavily armed riders came from the opposite direction, accompanied by the distinctive sound of clanking metal. Templar Marcus raised his gloved fist, stopping the expedition. Then he gave the order to part and step aside, and so the mages, grumbling, pulled up their robes and entered the bushes growing on the sides. After a while the cavalry rode past them, leaving nothing but dust behind them.

“Dragon hunters,” said Nimrod knowingly.

"How can you tell?" asked Trevelyan, trying to get rid of the burrs attached to her dress.

"They were wearing dragon webbing and dragon bone, haven't you noticed?"

If she was to be completely honest, Trevelyan hadn’t really noticed anything but the woman riding at the forefront of the group. Tilted forward in the saddle, she had sharp, handsome features and long, braided hair. On her back she wore a shield and attached to her side was a longsword. If I were a dragon, thought Trevelyan, I’d definitely be wary of her.

"I don’t really know that much about armour," she admitted, getting out of the thicket with the help of her staff. "It goes without saying though that it was the most exciting thing that happened during this trip."

Trevelyan didn’t care much for the history of magic. Nonetheless, she volunteered for the Senior Enchanter’s expedition mostly because, if only for a couple of days, it was her only chance to get out of the humid, claustrophobic keep that housed the Ostwick Circle. Everything was going according to the plan, until they reached the digging site, where it turned out that her job consisted of operating the spade and shovelling ancient elven rubble.

The expedition slowly returned to the road, leaving the sounds of a clearly ongoing battle far behind. Trevelyan even saw a puff of smoke when they arrived at the top of the next hill. Just when she was sure to never again preoccupy herself with the thoughts of the dragon hunters, their habitual tea stop was interrupted by a rider in such a hurry that he almost ran over Templar Marcus.

"I need help!" he cried, jumping down from the foaming horse. "My sister was badly wounded! You must help us!"

Sipping her tea calmly, The Senior Enchanter didn’t really look like someone who had to do anything. "What happened?" she asked. In the meantime, Templar Marcus, almost injured and definitely ignored by both parties, stepped aside with a sour expression.

"A dragon," explained the rider.

"I’m sorry, but we’re researchers, not healers. You should try asking the surgeon from the neighbouring—"

"He said he can’t do anything for her. But she’s still alive!"

Trevelyan felt sorry for him. He could’ve easily been her age, with his dark hair and sharp, handsome features. "I’ll go," she said in the heat of the moment, putting aside her sandwich. Nimrod was so shocked she dropped hers. "I’m not a healer, but I may be able to help."

"With your hedge witchery?" asked the Senior Enchanter. "Out of the question. It’s a task for a spirit healer, someone experienced and aware of—"

"Thank you!" The boy wasn’t listening to her anymore; instead he fell to his knees at Trevelyan’s side. "You’re our only hope!"

"What harm can it do?" Trevelyan was slightly offended by that ‘hedge witchery’ mention. "What if I can help them?"

"I don’t think it’s a good idea."

"Take my horse and go!" The boy got up from his knees and was now pushing the reins into Trevelyan’s hands. "I’ll come on foot."

Templar Marcus cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I’m afraid you need my permission for that. At the very least. Theoretically, I’m not supposed to let any of these mages out of my sight."

"That’s right, I forgot," said the boy, helping Trevelyan get into the saddle. "We intend to use the services of this mage at the sole command and responsibility of the Duke of Cumberland, His Grace Matthias Pentaghast."

"And you are...?"

"Prince Anthony Pentaghast." Turning to Trevelyan, he said, "It’s three miles from here, turn right once you pass the mill," and then he smacked the horse’s ass. "May Andraste lead you!"

Trevelyan spurred the horse forward, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. There she was, riding alone, without any templar breathing down her neck, without the ever irritated Senior Enchanter, even without Nimrod at her side. Were it another mage in her place, they could have easily chosen freedom, they could have rode straight to Cumberland to sail away on the next ship. As for Trevelyan, it didn’t even cross her mind. So she spurred the horse further and galloped towards the mill looming in the distance.

She turned right in the indicated place, where the trail of devastated crops allowed her to easily find the dragon hunters. The lumpish, colourful body of the dead dragon definitely dominated the scenery. The Duke and his entourage, gathered in a little grove on the balk, parted upon Trevelyan’s arrival.

"Where’s Anthony?" asked a grizzled man menacingly. He was probably the Duke himself.

Trevelyan leapt down from the horse ungracefully. "Going on foot," she said. "He gave me his horse so I'd get here faster. I’m from Ostwick."

The man’s stern face suddenly lit up. "You’re a healer?" he asked, and without waiting for confirmation added, "He brought a healer! Praise the Maker!"

"I am not... exactly qualified," she started, but the Duke was already pushing her towards his wounded daughter. "I’ll do what I can though."

The wounded woman was, as she assumed, the one she had noticed riding at the forefront of the group. Trevelyan recognised her mainly by the hair and the remains of her shield lying next to her on the ground. Everything else was covered in blood, soot and burns. Someone, probably the surgeon mentioned earlier by Anthony, laid her down on a cloak and cut open her armour, revealing terrible injuries.

Trevelyan kneeled down next to her, trying to remember all the things that an apostate had taught her that one time in the past. The one thing she needed for sure was to focus.

The Duke leant over, suddenly so close she could feel the burning smell oozing out of his body. "Is there anything you need?" he asked.

"Some space and quiet, Your Grace. And tell these people to stand back, please."

"Right away."

After a couple of seconds of clashing metal and nervous pacing everything quieted down. Trevelyan put one hand to her own temple, and the other to the woman’s forehead. Naturally, as the healer who taught her had once said, the power to heal didn’t come from the mage, but from the good spirits of the Fade. One had to summon them and convince them of their good intentions, and only then could they be of any help. Trevelyan focused on her desire to help. She thought about the boy, so out of breath, who rode so frantically he almost exhausted the horse only to ask some mages he had met by accident for help. She thought about the Duke, who surely prayed for his daughter’s health right now. She thought about all the other people who must have cared for her, and finally she thought about herself, about how she really wanted to save the woman she had only seen once, and for no more than a couple of seconds.

She felt the touch of something from beyond the Veil and let it flow through her body. She could feel the warm stream of power mending the broken tissue and bringing back the blood flow in the woman’s veins. The apostate was right, she thought. A mage was only a conductor. The real work was done by someone else.

As it was, Trevelyan wasn’t able to witness the results of her actions. Exhausted almost to the point of breaking and with a quite admirable flair for the dramatic, she fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearly evening when she came to, and there was no sign of the earlier crowd and noise. She was lying on something soft. Someone was sitting next to her, discussing the flavours of homemade liqueurs.

"The best is made from cranberry," croaked Trevelyan, trying and succeeding in sitting up. The soft thing she was lying on turned out to be hay covered with a knight’s cloak. Keeping guard over her were the village surgeon and a young man clad in Pentaghast livery.

"My lady!" exclaimed the surgeon. "We were afraid you weren’t going to come back."

Trevelyan brushed herself off. "Healing can be quite tiring," she explained.

"What you did was almost a miracle," said the young man. "I’ve never seen something quite like this."

"It’s a shame the Senior Enchanter wasn’t here to witness it. Thank you. I think I should be going now..."

The man helped her stand up, pick some stray straws off, and then handed her the cloak she was lying on. "You should put it on, looks like it's going to be a cold evening. My name is Sigismund. I’ll accompany you, my lady. His Grace was kind enough to leave us two horses and a token of his gratitude," he said, pulling an old, mossy bottle out of his saddle bags. Slightly baffled, Trevelyan accepted the gift.

"It’s wine."

"It’s very old and expensive wine," suggested Sigismund.

"It’s a bottle of wine."

"That it is."

They were silent for a while and the surgeon clearly didn’t know what was going on. Finally, Sigismund added, "The Duke isn’t fond of mages." He sounded embarrassed.

Now it was all clear. Trevelyan didn’t do what she did for any kind of prize, obviously, but she was not to be sneezed at either. With a sigh she placed the bottle in her backpack and then leaned heavily on her staff.

Sigismund dismissed the surgeon (who didn’t get anything from the Duke, not that it was a big consolation for Trevelyan, seeing as he also didn’t do much) and quickly got on his horse. Trevelyan followed in his footsteps, albeit with far less grace. She didn't have many occasions to practice horse riding in the Circle.

"I hope you know the way, my lady. It’s getting dark."

"You don’t have to call me lady. They strip us of all titles in the Circle."

"It seemed fitting, after what you’ve done."

"I take it lady Pentaghast is up and about?"

"She was weak and disoriented right after her awakening, but my lady healed—" he stopped, and then corrected himself, "you healed all of her wounds."

Trevelyan nodded her head. Sigismund turned out to be a good travelling companion, even though they almost got lost twice and one time almost fell off their saddles when a particularly big tawny owl flew over them. She wasn’t too happy when they finally saw the lights of the camp, followed closely by the angular shape of Templar Marcus standing watch.

The adventure was over. The story, carried by the word of mouth, paled considerably in relation to what really happened, the Senior Enchanter didn’t believe in Trevelyan’s grand success and Templar Marcus, still offended over the fact that he had been ignored, decided to keep demonstrating it until the end of the trip. By the time they finally reached the keep, the excitement wore off and Trevelyan fell back into her daily grind of working with the adepts, sitting in on the enchanters' boring lectures, spending hours upon hours on somnolent meditation and participating in tiresome meal breaks, during which everyone talked behind everyone’s back. Even watching the templars train from the bay window of the library had somehow lost its appeal.

"I know what’s going on," said Nimrod cunningly when Trevelyan once again grew bored with watching all the biceps and triceps at work with the swords.

"Do you? Enlighten me then."

"You fancy that boy!"

"What boy?"

"That young knight, the one that accompanied you back to the camp. And he left you his cloak, too! I bet you caught his eye as well."

"Yeah, in the dark, which was how we spent the last couple of hours of our uncomfortable journey back."

"He was not bad at all. No wonder you liked him."

"Nothing of the sort happened. Besides, it’s not like I’ll ever meet him again. I’ll be stuck here, transcribing the enchanters’ fascinating notes."

However, Trevelyan’s life had different opinion on that matter. One day, when she was minding her own business and eating dinner, she was suddenly called to the courtyard.

"What is going on?" she asked the templar who came to deliver the message.

"Some noblewoman wants to speak to you."

"A noblewoman? What about?"

"How should I know? Behave yourself."

Trevelyan suspected that for some templars it was twice as satisfying to bully mages of noble birth. She entered the courtyard, well aware of the fact that half of the Circle probably had their faces glued to the windows, drinking in the sight of someone new.

Right behind the gate there were three riders. In the bright, blinding light of the day the only thing Trevelyan saw for sure was the Pentaghast crest.

"Mage Trevelyan, I presume?" asked one of the riders.

"It’s me," she said and covered her eyes, although it hardly helped. It wasn’t until the rider got off her horse that Trevelyan finally recognised her. It was the Nevarran princess, the one she had saved in Wildervale. She was quite a sight, too: tall and long-legged, wearing jodhpur boots made of gray dragon scale. The only visible testament to the wounds she had suffered was a scar on her right cheek.

"Lady Pentaghast?" asked Trevelyan.

The woman offered her hand in greeting, as it was commonly done in the Free Marches. "You may call me Cassandra," she said. Her handshake was firm and her eyes were steel. She added, "I wanted to thank you in person for the selfless help you have offered me."

"Did you? It’s very kind of you, but I only did what I could, I’m not even a healer as I’ve already said—"

"You were a healer in that moment," replied Cassandra. "When I found out that Dad left you only with that bottle of wine... My apologies. This is not my forte and from what I’ve observed, we have quite the audience here. Would you care to take a walk with me?"

Trevelyan might or might not have jumped a little. "Of course!" she said.

"I apologise, you were probably in the middle of something..."

"Not at all. In fact I'd hate to miss the occasion to get out of here for a while," she said in a conspiratorial whisper, in response to which Cassandra frowned a little. "I mean it, we should go."

The princess gave the reins to one of her adjutants. Trevelyan wasn't surprised to recognise him as Sigismund, who then winked at her conspicuously.

They left through the gate. The keep was surrounded by a historic park, where the mages could sometimes go for a walk. Well, those who had earned it at least.

"I forgot I still have this young knight’s cloak," said Trevelyan. "I’ll give it back if they allow me to go back to the keep to get it. It a very good cloak."

Cassandra cleared her throat. "Actually, it’s mine," she said, hooking her fingers through the sword belt. "And you should keep it. This keep doesn’t strike me as warm. And I take it, you don’t leave it very often?"

"Almost never," she complained. "That is why I was a part of that expedition. You could say that this whole confluence of events is a direct result of me wanting to break free from here."

Cassandra laughed a little. "It’s good that’s one of your desires then. I must admit I was surprised with my father’s decision to bring you in. He really isn’t—"

"Fond of mages," finished Trevelyan. "Sigismund told me."

"Did he now. He only told me good things about you."

"Sigismund?"

"Yes. He really appreciated your company. He has never met a mage before and was pleasantly surprised by your attitude."

And so was Trevelyan right now. Cassandra, however, seemed not to notice anything. She stopped right under the half-ruined tower, looking at the stairs with interest.

"Does it lead anywhere?"

"There is a view of the valley from the balcony on the other side. Higher floors are inaccessible though. It was elven... I think. And it can be slippery."

Cassandra efficiently climbed half of the stairs and extended her hand in help, so Trevelyan, whether she wanted it or not, pulled up her robes, took the offered hand and joined her there. The princess gripped her elbow in the most dangerous moment, and then let her walk in front of her.

"Healing skills aren’t very common, I take it," she continued.

"They aren’t. The Chantry rather demurs them."

"Why is that?"

"Partially because it entails the contact with the spirits from beyond the Veil, which for them always means the same, that is, demons. But also because it stands against their doctrine. The Maker works in mysterious ways and so on."

"And you don’t agree?"

Trevelyan was on the verge of saying something rather impulsive, but stopped herself in the last moment. In her experience, people with swords and fathers who openly held mages in contempt didn’t always have high tolerance for heretic theories.

Cassandra leaned on the balustrade. It looked as if it was going to fall apart any minute now. "I’m just asking for your opinion," she said.

"I agree with the Chantry that magic exists to serve men," admitted Trevelyan. "Because it does. On the battlefield, for example, or in field hospitals. A battle mage can easily substitute for a whole infantry unit, and a skilled healer doesn’t usually pass out right after healing someone, like some of us do. Maybe if there were more of them, people wouldn’t have to suffer like they do."

"I’ve never thought of it this way," said Cassandra. "And I must say I’m very impressed with your skills. Even though you said it’s not your specialty."

"I was very impressed with my skills too," Trevelyan blurted out. "I mean, I didn’t expect to be successful. So far I’ve only dealt with fingers cut while peeling carrots, or sprained ankles."

"What is your specialty, then? Many of these things are fairly new to me, I apologise if I’m out of line."

"I’d like to be a battle mage," confessed Trevelyan, slightly embarrassed. "When I was a kid I thought I would become a knight, but it turned out... well."

Cassandra seemed to be taken by surprise by her own sympathy. "I’m sorry."

Trevelyan also leaned on the balustrade, which crunched dangerously in response. "It happens," she said. A valley stretched in front of them, the yellow of the blooming rape sometimes giving way to the green of balks and groves, and the white of peasant farmhouses. In the distance the imperial high road could be spotted, the one the Nevarran riders must have used to get here.

Cassandra coughed, breaking the silence that threatened to go on for too long. "In any case, I thought it unacceptable that Dad sent you back with so much as practically nothing." From her belt she unclasped a heavy, ornate pouch, which she proceeded to hand to Trevelyan. "I wanted to reward you for your efforts."

The pouch, as it turned out, contained jewellery made of white gold. There was a necklace, a bracelet and bejewelled rings.

"I cannot possibly accept this," Trevelyan made a move suggesting she wanted to give the pouch back.

Cassandra covered Trevelyan’s hand with hers for a moment, a corner of her mouth rising in a soft smile. "You can and you will, as a token of my gratitude. I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you. And it will suit you more than it could ever suit me."

They walked slowly back to the keep. Templar Marcus, standing near the gate, was clearly sweating impatiently. "It is dangerous to wander off alone with a mage," he said to them as they were walking past him.

Cassandra patted him condescendingly on the shoulder. "You should try treating them with respect," she said. "It changes everything."  
Trevelyan raised her hand to cover a sudden smile. In one of the windows of the tower Nimrod was giving her all kinds of signs, most of them pointing to Sigismund. For her part, Trevelyan couldn’t care less about him.


	3. Chapter 3

Instead of sleeping, she was lying in bed, thinking that conversation over and over in her head. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamt about horse riding with the princess on a meadow. Quite mercifully, further escalation was stopped by the first morning bell. It didn’t stop her from being embarrassed about it.

A feeling that Nimrod was apparently not familiar with.

"I can’t belieeeve it," she kept moaning as she squirmed on Trevelyan’s bed. "It’s like a fairytale! And it happened to you!"

"It could’ve happened to you if you had got off your butt back then."

"Oh no, I’m sure it couldn’t have, nothing interesting ever happens to me. And that necklace! It’s so beautiful. Are you sure I can’t wear it? Only for one day... Under the robe?"

"No."

"Not even for an hour? This jewellery is magnificent, you should be wearing it!"

"Here, in the Circle? You’ve got to be kidding."

"Not even for an hour? Trev?"

"Maybe for an hour," allowed Trevelyan.

The messages and rumours, as they often do, spread quite rapidly all over the claustrophobic Circle and for a long time Trevelyan heard her name in every possible scenario and context, most of them rather unflattering. Templar Marcus, deeply hurt by the fact that someone tried to stand up for her, decided to manifest his contempt for her every day, on every possible occasion. Not to mention, after she was caught dozing off during several lectures, her eyes staring off into space, the Senior Enchanter came to the conclusion that Trevelyan was simply bored, which resulted in so many new chores that she didn't even have time to watch the training templars anymore.

Outside, spring was slowly giving way to summer and Trevelyan had long since given up on the idea that she would ever enjoy this kind of weather again, when suddenly one day Nimrod came to her running, eyes glistening maniacally.

"There's a letter for you," she said, breathing heavily. Trevelyan usually worked in the office situated on the highest floor of the tower. "You won't believe it."

"You won't know until you tell me what it is about," she admitted, going through her notes mechanically.

"It's from the Pentaghasts," whispered Nimrod, sounding quite secretive. "It has the Duke's crest on it!"

Trevelyan turned around so rapidly she managed to throw some papers off the desk. "What?!"

"They want to take you in, Trev! They want you as their court mage!"

Trevelyan jumped from behind her desk, making a sound that only bats and dogs could hear. "What!" Nimrod joined her and for a while they jumped together haphazardly, probably causing a great deal of consternation among the people residing on the lower floors. Then, she revealed that right now the First Enchanter together with the Knight Commander were debating the possibility of her release so she could go and work for the Pentaghasts. Trevelyan ran her hand through her hair, straightened up her robes and quickly went downstairs. She spent some time eavesdropping at the door, and then she knocked.

"Enter," said the Knight Commander. Trevelyan always thought she was one of the nicest and kindest templars; sadly, she wasn't around mages too often.

"Good morning," she said and curtsied, trying to make the best impression she could on the people she usually mostly annoyed. "I was informed that, uh, there's a message for me."

"There is. Sit down, Trevelyan." The Knight Commander pointed her in the direction of an empty chair. "The Duke of Cumberland, Matthias Pentaghast, has requested the use of your services."

"Though it's not clear why," muttered the First Enchanter.

The Knight Commander raised her hand, as if to indicate that she had already heard everything he had to say on that matter.

"As you are probably aware, we don't usually let mages that rank lower than enchanters serve outside of the Circle," she continued. "On the other hand, the Duke asked for you specifically. You probably know why."

Trevelyan nodded her head enthusiastically. "I'm well aware of what skills I lack, especially in terms of experience. What I can promise you is that I will try to learn as much as I can. This kind of service is an amazing opportunity for comprehensive studies. And a noble court is something I know well, so I wouldn't have any problems with proper form and etiquette."

The Knight Commander looked convinced, which couldn't be said for the First Enchanter.

"Not to mention, you hear a lot of things at the Nevarran royal court," added Trevelyan slyly.

"That you do," admitted the First Enchanter, in his mind's eye already seeing all the spy letters Trevelyan would be sending them. "I will agree to let her go provided she improves her healing skills. We need her spot for the Tantervale adept anyway."

"That we do. What will it be, Trevelyan? Would you like to leave these walls?"

"I would," she said, as stoically as she could. The triumphant jump she saved for when she was already out of the room.

The time it would take the messenger to carry the response back to Nevarra was the time she was supposed to study spirit healing. The First Enchanter delegated this task to one of the old enchanters, who barely remembered which age it was, let alone how to heal, and so Trevelyan accomplished way more by going through ancient books on the subject. As it turned out, the things the apostate taught her were no 'hedge witchery', but actual healing, even according to Circle standards.

She wouldn't miss the old, steep steps to the highest floor of the tower, nor would she miss the mouldy baths, the muddy yard, or the refectory where so many people forced to share space also shared their personal dramas on a daily basis. One thing that she would miss, though, was certainly Nimrod, the first person to show her kindness, when, at the age of fifteen, she was taken to the Circle. Nimrod was fourteen back then and had been in the Circle for a year. She knew the rules of that kind of life and helped Trevelyan avoid making some rookie mistakes. Together, they often sneaked into the pantry to pilfer some snacks for their nightly reading of steamy novels, they would make up a code they could use to communicate in the presence of templars, they covered for themselves during their firsts trysts with pimply adepts... And now it was supposed to end.

Trevelyan offered her one of the rings she received as a gift.

"I'll write you," she promised. "I'll probably be back soon though, once they realise I suck."

Nimrod hugged her. "Stop that. You're the best! And you know, if they ever need someone to light their fire..."

"I'll surely recommend you." Trevelyan hugged her tightly and even though she tried to stay composed, she could feel her eyes filling with tears. "Or I'll tell my family to take you. They could use someone without a stick up their butt. And, you know, write to me."

Nimrod sobbed softly. "I'll write all the time," she said. "Go now, the horses are waiting."

The Pentaghasts sent Sigismund to accompany her, which wasn't a big surprise.

Sigismund gave her a welcome nod upon her arrival. "Mistress Trevelyan."

"I assume I have you to thank for that," she said by way of greeting, mounting her travelling pouch on the saddle. There was a mule nearby. One of the Tranquils was putting her remaining luggage on it.

Sigismund smiled softly. "I'm just following orders."

The Knight Commander graced her with her presence for the last time, mostly to give her a litany of things she wasn't allowed to do. Nimrod was waving at her with a white handkerchief, and the enchanters were glaring from the windows, jealousy clear on their faces. Most of them probably dreamt about being taken away to live in some manor by the forest.

Suddenly she realised she didn't really know anything about the place she was supposed to live in, other than the standard pieces of information she had about Nevarra.

"So where are we going, left or right?" she asked when they passed the gate. "I'm kidding, I know it's straight ahead for now."

"It's not far from Cumberland," said Sigismund. "The manor, the vineyard and the jetty by the lake. It's a really lovely place."

"How long have you lived there?"

"Ever since I became a squire for lady Pentaghast. It's really beautiful, especially this time of the year."

For the last time Trevelyan looked over her shoulder in the direction of the Circle tower. "There isn't a place I wouldn't like more than this one."

The journey took them a few days, during which she learned many fascinating things about the life of young, Nevarran knights and managed to break one of the rules the Knight Commander gave her by telling Sigismund way too many things about life in the Circle.

Soon she learned he wasn't exaggerating. Located at the foot of a hill covered with terraced vinyeards, by the lake which glistened in the sun, the manor really was an amazing sight. It seemed bigger and more modern than the one Trevelyan grew up in in Ostwick. Then again, she hadn't seen their keep for years, so she could've been wrong. The stable boys appeared right after they entered the courtyard and didn't waste any time unsaddling the horses. A few minutes later a familiar, dark-haired figure emerged from the mansion, wearing jodhpur boots.

Trevelyan was disappointed to discover it was Anthony Pentaghast.

He gave her a chivalrous bow. "Welcome," he said. "You're here sooner than we expected. I stayed behind just in case, but my family is still in Cumberland. It's perfectly alright though, it will give us time to accommodate you a little."

 

The difference between the scared boy she met in Wildervale and the one that was standing in front of her now was so great she didn't know how to react, so she just curtsied and nodded her head. Sigismund gave a deeper bow and moved away in the direction of the stables. If his body language was to be any indication, he wasn't exactly fond of the young Pentaghast.

"Would you like me to show you around?" asked Anthony.

"It would be my pleasure," she replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr at pentasassed.tumblr.com where I'm doing my best to revive cassandra x femquisitor tag


	4. Chapter 4

Trevelyan hardly considered herself a catch when it came to the opposite sex (and maybe a small catch as far as her own was concerned), but she was usually able to tell when she was being hit on. Like right now. She was standing in the garden with Anthony Pentaghast by her side, frantically trying to come up with a discussion topic that wasn't about long moonlight strolls their park was, theoretically, amazing for, not to mention the wine from their own vineyard. Anthony was hardly invasive, but considering they had only known each other for about twenty minutes, as well as the fact that Trevelyan was supposed to be living with them from now on, she didn't think it appropriate.

"Over there!" she pointed at something behind his back. "What kind of a bird could that be?"

Falling for the oldest trick in the book, Anthony turned around and began to intently look for the bird in question, while Trevelyan turned on her heel, pulled up her robes and made a brisk beeline for the mansion. She didn't get very far. While passing a huge magnolia bush, she bumped into a bony woman in a corset so tight it made her look almost absurdly thin.

The woman threw her hands up in horror. "My dear, what are you doing here!" she cried out. "You can't just wander around with your neck so dirty!"

Trevelyan instinctively rubbed her neck.

"Come, come, we have to find something for you to wear for the evening," the woman said, grabbing Trevelyan's arm and dragging her along. "You can't just walk around in this thing."

"Actually, I'm supposed to be wearing it," said Trevelyan meekly, letting the woman drag her wherever she wanted.

"Not here you're not, my dear. You're in Nevarra now, we have our own rules."

The woman, who Trevelyan thought was the Pentaghasts' governess, even though she was entirely different from the chubby, sanguine lady who served this function in her own home, led her to a room full of clothes and mirrors.

"What will it be, a dress or breeches? I think breeches, since Cassandra's the one responsible for your coming here."

"Very well. It's been a long time since I wore anything but these robes."

"Take them off, please. There's a basin full of water over there, if you want to freshen up after your journey. I need to at least estimate your measurements..."

Trevelyan hung her robes on a dowel. They were ugly and uncomfortable, but at least she didn't have to think about what to wear every day. Underneath, she wore cotton underwear, the kind that was worn by every woman in the Circle, from the Senior Enchanter to Nimrod.

"Later they'll send for a seamstress who will take your measurements. For now wear this," said the governess, handing her a pair of breeches and something long in Pentaghast colours that turned out to be a tunic. "Add a belt, and you're ready. Take a look at yourself."

Trevelyan looked in the mirror and saw someone else than usual. The green and black of her new clothes brought up something new in her. Their cut was lighter and way more practical than the woollen robes most mages were punished with. "Thank you so much for your help," she said.

"There's no need. Such a pretty lady! That only leaves your rooms to take care of."

And again the governess dragged Trevelyan all over the mansion, but it was definitely worth it when they reached her quarters. They offered a view of the lake, but also of the courtyard. Immensely large windows let a lot of light in.

"This is where I'll sleep?" she asked, incredulous.

"This is it. Lady Cassandra gave the order to prepare the best guest room there was for you. This one definitely is the best we have."

The furniture was elegant but discreet, and there were shelves full of books stretching all along the wall. The governess moved around the room, busying herself with arranging the luggage. Trevelyan looked out of the window into the courtyard.

The governess rattled on, "We'll get you a maid in case you need help with anything. We don't have elves, though! We only employ country girls, very hardworking even if a bit slow-witted. There's no shouting at the servants though, not to mention punishing them, so if there's something not to your liking, just tell me and—"

Suddenly, a sound of rattling hooves and raised voices reached them from the courtyard.

"Stop it, Dad," said Cassandra loudly, getting off the horse and throwing the reins in the direction of the stable boy. "What happened with Uncle didn't have anything to do with that, it was between you and him—"

"You don't know anything about that," the Duke interrupted her. He was very tall and sported an intimidating beard. "You were five, and yet you know exactly what happened. As you always do."

"You didn't have to be there to have an opinion!"

A moment later a carriage pulled up to the courtyard. An elegant, mature woman got out of it. She had the fair, delicate looks specific to Anderfels. If that was the lady Pentaghast, her children looked nothing like her, bearing all the resemblance to their father. She said something in a silent voice and suddenly everyone lifted their heads and looked straight at Trevelyan. Cassandra motioned with her hand, as if to invite her to join them.

Trevelyan run down the stairs into the courtyard, instinctively trying to pull up the robes she didn't wear anymore. She took a deep bow in front of the Duke and the Duchess.

"I thank you humbly for your invitation and the honour that is being able to serve at your court, Your Grace. It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace," she said, turning to lady Pentaghast, who nodded her head at her in a genteel gesture. "Your manor is simply exquisite."

"Mistress Trevelyan from Ostwick," said the Duke, dragging out the vowels. "From the better Trevelyans, as far as I know. Tell me, what would be the proper title for you?"

"Dad, stop interrogating her," hissed Cassandra from behind his back. "It's not like she'll bring a dowry into this family."

"I'm afraid there is none," replied Trevelyan. "We mages lose all titles and instead use the ones consistent with the Circle's hierarchy."

"It's of little importance here," said the prince. "We treat our guests with the respect they deserve, not the one the Chantry dictates for them."

"Then it's baroness of Ostwick and environs," said Trevelyan, slightly embarrassed. "That would be my title right now. If the circumstances were different, of course."

The Duchess finally spoke up. "It's nice to meet you, lady Trevelyan." She had a gentle, soothing voice, one that didn't stand a chance against the firm, loud voices of the rest of the Pentaghasts. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to freshen up before supper. I look forward to seeing you at our table!"

Having said that, accompanied by the swish of her dress and the carriers who took care of the packages brought from Cumberland, she floated away in the direction of the mansion. Trevelyan couldn't imagine someone like her giving birth to Cassandra, who was just now taking the steps two at a time racing her brother up the stairs. A moment later raised voices could be heard again.

The governess was still present in Trevelyan’s quarters when she returned. Everything looked much cosier than before.

"Excuse me, I have a question..." started Trevelyan. "Is there a topic I should avoid touching upon during supper? I wouldn't want to offend anyone."

The governess put her arms on her hips. "Hmm," she mused. "You mustn't ask about His Grace's brother, it is a touchy subject. As is Orlais, the Duke hates Orlais. He also hates the Fereldans. And the Antivans," she added after a moment's thought. "He's not fond of theatre either, he thinks it's cheating. He likes dogs though."

"Dogs," echoed Trevelyan. "I'll try to remember that. Thank you."

"Looks like everything is almost ready," said the governess, rearranging the pillows on the bed. "The bell will ring for supper, that's when you should go down. His Grace doesn't like it when someone—"

"Is late. I figured."

Finally alone, she sat in all the places she could sit in and lay down in all the ones she could lie in. When all she had left was a reading chair, she started going through the books. The collection was quite impressive. Standing out were the volumes on the art of magic and healing, which made her think they were brought in especially for her. This in turn made her feel a little uneasy. She stood by the window for a while, trying to relax.

That was when she noticed that someone else was coming for supper. Judging by their escort – two armed men – and their beautiful horse, it was someone important. She didn't meet them until the bell rang and supper began.

"Another guest will be eating with us today," announced the Duke, taking his seat at the top of the table. "Chevalier Axel de Farfois decided to join us for supper."

Axel de Farfois, a chubby, smug-looking blonde, greeted them with a bow and didn't pay any attention when the Duke was introducing Trevelyan. To her great satisfaction, he did start a conversation by asking about news from Ferelden, which then caused a five minute lecture explaining what was wrong with that country and why its citizens should never leave its borders, whether plagued the Blight or not. The only thing Trevelyan did was praise the food, indeed way better than whatever they served in the Circle, after which she immediately gave her full and undivided attention to the veal, even if it wasn't exactly polite.

"And the new trophy, Your Grace?"

"It's on display in the living room, we'll show it to you. The dragon wasn't easy this time," said the Duke, casting a glance at his daughter, who was currently very busy with putting some salad on her plate.

"What? Ah, yes. The dragon was difficult."

"It's hard to believe something could be difficult for lady Cassandra," said de Farfois and Trevelyan, sitting right on the opposite side from Cassandra, saw a fleeting annoyed expression on her face.

"And yet it was," Cassandra said coldly, spearing the cucumber with her fork.

"This time indeed we needed help," continued the Duke, all thoughts of the Fereldan threat already forgotten. "Luckily, mistress Trevelyan was there to provide it."

Chevalier de Farfois looked at her as if he just saw her for the first time in his life, even though just a minute ago he was passing her the gravy boat.

"Forgive me for asking, Mistress, but... shouldn't there be a templar accompanying you?"

From the other side of the table Trevelyan heard the sound of someone inhaling deeply. To gather her thoughts she fixed her eyes on Duchess Pentaghast, who was currently chewing her food slowly.

Finally, she asked, "Do you carry a sword with you, ser chevalier?"

The silence that followed was so immense a fly buzzing right under the ceiling could be heard.

"I do," said de Farfois arrogantly. "I'm a knight."

"Shouldn't there be some sort of a guardian accompanying you, to stop you in case you wanted to stab someone?"

Cassandra snorted into her fist, while de Farfois gaped at Trevelyan, struggling to come up with a witty rejoinder and failing visibly. Anthony's face was twisted in a funny way, probably from the pent up laughter as well. Trevelyan didn’t feel brave enough to look at the Duke and the Duchess. She decided to focus on what was lying on her plate for good now.

Chevalier de Farfois barely managed to sit out the rest of the meal, and excused himself as quickly as he could, claiming there were important matters he had to attend. Trevelyan was also intent on making herself scarce, preferably before the Duke remembered his dislike towards mages, but Cassandra stopped her at the door.

"How about a walk?" she suggested. "It's good to walk after you eat," she added and rubbed her belly where the only thing she probably had were muscles made of steel.

"I'd love to. This way?"

"Let's exit through the patio," she said, showing Trevelyan the way. The open patio led directly to the park, already half-covered by shadows. "I wanted to apologise for today. It didn't go the way it was supposed to. First the trip to the city, then that fight... And now that moron. I truly apologise."

"You don't have anything to apologise for," said Trevelyan, although she had to admit it was oddly pleasant to hear the apology. "I'm still not over the fact that I'm here and not there."

Cassandra snorted, this time with amusement. Ramrod straight, she was walking with her hands resting behind her back, unlike Trevelyan, who after hours spent at an official meal in an uncomfortable chair was twisted like a hundred year old granny.

"That was what you wanted, wasn't it?" Cassandra sounded as if she was trying to make sure. "That was my impression after our first conversation. That you can't stand being locked there, in the Circle."

"Definitely. Some mages... I think they get used to living there. Or maybe even like it, because they're safe and don't have to worry about anything... I, on the other hand..." She shrugged.

Cassandra nodded. Trevelyan couldn't decipher the look on her face.

"Good. Because there's something else I have to tell you."

"What is it?" breathed Trevelyan. They were standing under a willow tree, its branches hanging all the way down to the ground.

"Dad wants to test you," said Cassandra. "We're going wyvern hunting tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

After a sleepless night spent wriggling on her bed, reading anxiously and regretting the decisions she had made in a hurry, Trevelyan expected the infamous wyvern hunting to be a slightly more dynamic affair than the one she was witnessing.

She was lying with her hands crossed beneath her head, staring at the clouds. The Duke and his daughter lazily talked politics, nibbling on cheese and sausages, and the young prince was picking his teeth, sending Trevelyan smouldering glances now and then. The wyverns were thought to rove somewhere nearby, but the hunters were supposed to wait for a sign Sigismund was meant to give them from the bushes.

Trevelyan felt strange, to put it mildly. The idyllic atmosphere was making her lazy, but the stress related to the upcoming test of her skills wouldn't allow her to relax completely. The Pentaghasts, for their part, didn't seem too preoccupied with anything of the sort, instead gossiping about marquis Bedham's failed endeavours. From what she gathered from the discussion, the marquis' greatest mistake was supporting the wrong archduke.

She cast a glance towards the line of the horizon, made up mostly of green hills. Somewhere far, far away lay Ostwick, and the worst thing was, if she didn't succeed today, the Duke would send her back there. She couldn't stand the thought of going back defeated. She'd sooner convince Sigismund to escape together to Rivain, and if he wouldn’t want to help her, she'd just hit him in the head with her staff and lay him down in a ditch...

Her mischievous thoughts were interrupted by the actual Sigismund, who suddenly jumped out of the bushes and made a beeline for their picnic location.

"Two! There are two!"

The Pentaghasts sprang into action, starting with putting all the armour elements they took off in order to picnic properly back on. Trevelyan, far less enthusiastic about it, also stood up, the grip on her staff tight. Compared to the rest of the weapons it felt rather feeble.

"Let us go," said the Duke, grabbing a huge shield. "Mistress?"

Trevelyan nodded tentatively. Cassandra had already begun to walk downhill, her face almost completely obscured by the high collar of her dragon armour.

"Remember to stay back during the fight," she said. "Dad and I go first, then Anthony, supporting us at a longer range. In case anything goes wrong there are guardsmen waiting nearby."

Trevelyan wanted to remind her that the guardsmen sometimes did not suffice, but ultimately she didn't wish to ruin the militant mood everyone was suddenly so affected by. They tore through the same bushes that Sigismund spent his whole afternoon in and found themselves right by a little pond. Over there, in the shallow waters, two sizeable wyverns were sloshing around. Upon seeing them they bared their teeth and hissed.

The Duke and the princess moved first, targeting the closest wyvern and shielding themselves efficiently from its attacks, the sound of clashing and clanking metal all around them. Anthony took care of the second one. Visibly disoriented, it tried to bounce his arrows with its tail. Trevelyan, anxious, struggled to keep track of the fight. She had to admit that the Pentaghasts fought better than the templars she used to watch from the window of the library. They were uncompromising but elegant, amazingly efficient, especially in their father-daughter duo.

She must've stared at them for a while too long, because at first she didn't even notice the third wyvern jumping out of the thicket with a vicious hiss. It was neither that big nor that impressive size-wise; even its teeth were chipped. Despite its many deficiencies, Trevelyan nearly peed herself a little when she saw it. Luckily the things she managed to learn in the Circle didn't go to waste. Preparing herself to cast a spell, she lowered her hands, gathering the water from beneath the ground, and hauled it out straight at the wyvern. Icicles sharp as daggers burst forth from the ground, spearing the wyverns' forepaws.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sigismund coming to her rescue, but the magic she had already gathered was quicker. She raised her hands towards the sky, looking for electricity, the smell of ozone high in the air around her, and a moment later a lightning bolt came down from the sky, striking the wyvern with force. The smell of burning meat spread around them as Sigismund darted forward, cutting the wyvern's head off. It was hardly necessary.

When she turned around, the Pentaghasts were staring at her, their mouths open and their weapons lowered. Cassandra still had one leg braced on the wyvern's head, her sword buried deep inside the animal's neck. Despite the silly expression on her face, she still looked impressive.

Finally Duke Matthias sheathed his sword and coughed. Trevelyan bowed, not deeply enough to make it ironic.

"I had no idea you could do that!" exclaimed Cassandra.

"I thought that was why you took me with you today."

The Duke motioned at the guardsmen with his hand, urging them forward. "Not exactly," he said. "We took you with us in case any of us got hurt today. And to check your combat skills. There's nothing to worry about, as it turns out. Is anyone hurt?"

Someone was. Sigismund had sprained his ankle in his last, heroic jump, which Trevelyan healed, for show rather than from actual need. In the meantime the rest of the expedition hauled the dead wyvern bodies onto the cart. Pentaghasts took most of their trophies home with them, where they were flayed and made into outfits, suits of armour and decorative elements. The meat was usually given to the kitchens. Suddenly Trevelyan wasn't so sure if what she had eaten the other day was veal.

The Duke seemed pleased with the hunt and on their way back they stopped by a tavern famous for its magnificent crayfish. The owner must've known him, because the moment he saw them he dropped everything and pointed them in the direction of a private bower. Everyone, including the three knights from the guard unit, was served crayfish, bread straight from the oven and Nevarran cheese. Trevelyan's father, a humble baron, never used to fraternise with anyone to such extent when they were travelling.

"Isn't that kind of magic a bit dangerous?" asked Anthony when the meal was basically over and everyone was just waiting for the next bottle of wine. "Lightning bolts, fireballs..."

"Actually I know next to nothing about fire magic, but there are mages who have mastered all four elements," said Trevelyan, unable to shake the feeling that she was treading over thin ice. "But these spells, they're not like, let's say, an arrow fired from your bow. Such an arrow pierces everything in its way, but a spell... A properly cast spell will only hit the person it was aimed at."

"How is that possible?" asked the Duke, clearly surprised.

"The will of the mage casting the spell is what directs it. That's why lightning bolts only strike enemies, and why magic bolts fly harmlessly through your allies. Granted, it requires an iron willpower and constant focus."

"What you're trying to say is that it's better to be on a mage's good side, is that right?" he asked slyly. Sigismund smiled at that and Trevelyan realised the Duke was just kidding.

"You could say that," she allowed, making everyone at the table laugh.

The Pentaghasts apparently weren't very worried about the wyvern meat going bad, because they stayed in the tavern until the evening, while the serving girls kept on bringing more food and wine. Surprised, Trevelyan realised she was beginning to have fun with them. Granted, the Duke still unnerved her, but discovering he had a sense of humour helped. Anthony stopped hitting on her when he realised that she could easily strike him with a lightning bolt, and Cassandra, having drunk quite a lot, was surprisingly charming.

"Excuse me, I need some fresh air," Trevelyan said finally, making a move as if to stand up.

"I'll join you," said Cassandra and grabbed her cloak. Together they wriggled out from behind the table, stomping over at least a few knights and also Sigismund's ankle. "What are you laughing at?"

"In the Circle we always found it funny that girls went together to use the privy."

Cassandra giggled adorably, which was something Trevelyan would have never thought she did.

"I didn't know that. Maybe because there was never a girl for me to go there with," she said, casting a quick glance at Trevelyan and immediately looking away. "How do you feel after your first hunt?"

"I can't say I feel bad. I thought I would do worse."

"You've got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Cassandra, drawing everyone’s attention to them. "What you did was amazing. And believe me, it's not easy to impress me."

"I don't doubt it," agreed Trevelyan. The cold air hit her when they left the tavern. She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. "Say... would your father send me back if I fainted? Or struck Sigismund with a lightning bolt?"

"I wouldn't let him," said Cassandra. Trevelyan didn't have any doubt about that. "I wanted to thank you again for what you did for me. There's something I never told anyone."

They stopped. Luckily, they weren't that close to the privy yet.

"What is it?" asked Trevelyan.

"You did not only heal my wounds," started Cassandra. "It was more than that. I used to have a knee injury that is gone now." She went on to demonstrate it, swinging one long, leather-clad leg back and forth. "And the broken elbow... it's fixed now. I feel younger than I was before, Trevelyan."

"I might've lost control a little," admitted Trevelyan.

"A little!" Cassandra laughed and patted Trevelyan on the shoulder. "Good thing it was only a little. I admit I'm quite fond of my scars."

Trevelyan just nodded. So was she.

Cassandra shoved her in the direction of the privy. "You go first. Good luck."

Trevelyan wasn't sure where the good luck wishes were coming from until she saw the privy. It was a small, dark shed with a heart-shaped hole, probably home to several big spiders. She thought for a second about lighting a magic light, but then realised it would only uncover all the things that were living inside. She did what she had to do in the dark, cursing the fact that she had decided to wear breeches.

By the time she got out, Cassandra had already disappeared. Confused, Trevelyan walked around the whole yard and finally reached the cart with the wyverns, only to discover a lone, sleepy stable boy standing watch.

"Cassandra?" she called.

An unidentified shape moved on her right-hand side, near the entrance to the tavern. "Over there," came the response. Trevelyan was just about to go there, but she tripped over something in the grass. A strong arm caught her before she fell down. "I'm here."

Trevelyan turned around. Near the entrance to the tavern there was a small altar with a figure of Andraste. Inside, someone had lit a candle.


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Parents (and you, Adolphine),_

_I would like to begin with an apology that it took me such a long time to write to you. I must, however, add that my remorse is not entirely honest – the delay has its origins in circumstances that are both extraordinary and propitious, at least for me. To cut to the chase: I’ve been appointed an enchanter at the court of Duke Matthias Pentaghast of Nevarra. My responsibilities consist not only of assisting Their Graces in their day to day activities, but also – or mostly, to be precise – during hunting trips, for dragons, but also other draconids, such as wyverns._

_I'll move on to describing the place where I currently live to give Mom some time to ingest this information and to compose herself._

_Duke Matthias’ manor is located in a picturesque valley by the lake. It's bigger and sunnier than ours, built in Orlesian style. There is a garden and a big park, as well as a jetty, at the end of which there is something like a little house, but lacking floor. It shields Their Graces from bystanders’ eyes when they enjoy their bath there during the summer. Behind the manor there is a vineyard, the same one that produces the Nevarran white wine resting comfortably in a cellar. The key to its door is in the possession of the governess since there were some curious cases of missing bottles. I was assigned quarters in the northern wing of the manor. They are located above the dining room and the quest room and are equipped with every convenience one could expect in such a place, as well as a number of books. That last fact, as you have probably guessed, was what pleased me the most._

_If Mum has calmed down by now, please continue._

_Yes, the hunting trips are dangerous. Yes, I have already participated in at least one of them. No, nothing has happened to me. Yes, I intend to continue doing this. No, I will not be coming back to the Circle, at least not until I have to. I've already read all the books they have. Sometimes the boredom was so overwhelming, I wanted to cry. It's nothing like the intellectually stimulating atmosphere the templars said it would be._

_Summing up, I am leading a very comfortable life here, in the Duke's manor. Not only have I been granted stylish accommodation, but also delicious food has been served to me. If you ever wanted to give up on old Wendy, you should definitely hire a Nevarran cook. I'd send you some cookies, if it weren't for the fact that the messenger would surely eat them, that's how good they are. Please, send the prospective letters to this address. If you have already sent something to the Circle (which I doubt), I'm sure that sooner or later they will forward it here._

_Warmest regards for everyone,_   
_A.P.T. Trevelyan_

_My dearest Nim,_

_If you have already sent something to me, it's not here yet. If you haven't, shame on you._   
_I'm writing to you from my new, luxurious room, where the following objects are at my languorous disposal: a) a double bed, with a mattress that is just right, not too soft, not too hard, b) a reading armchair, c) a chaise longue with a floral pattern, d) a dressing table with a chair, e) an Antivan carpet in front of the fireplace, f) a seat by the window with a view of the lake. I have dented all of these places with my genteel butt already, well, maybe with the exception of the carpet, because it's still too hot outside to use the fireplace._

_Tell me, please, what is going on in the Circle. It's not that I miss it, but I do feel excluded from the life I got so used to. Here I don't really have friends I could gossip with about who did what and when, although Your Beloved And Perhaps To Be Your Husband sir Sigismund sometimes keeps me company. I can assure you that his interest in me is purely platonic, as Sigismund is Unluckily In Love with someone else, whose identity hasn't been revealed to me yet. He walks around aimlessly, heaves deep sighs and stares at the lake, etc. Maybe you are the reason._

_I'm eating like a queen here and I'm afraid that soon the measurements the seamstress has taken will be out of date. That would be unfortunate, because they have already ordered a whole set of clothes for many different occasions for me: hunting trips, banquets, balls, picnics, horse rides and even some kind of armour, since an armourer was assisting us for a while. In this place, I am somewhat of a distant, poor relative with little to no idea about current fashion trends. This summer, while we're at it, fox embroideries and chiffon are all the rage. You wouldn’t believe the things I saw on the streets of Cumberland._

_Still, I'm not going to lie – I miss you very much, Nim! In order not to miss you that much, I made up a new game, one that we would surely play together, were the circumstances different. I'm comparing the manor's residents to the people of the Circle. The Duke is definitely the Knight Commander Thereny, and the Duchess is the Enchanter Malin, always absent-minded, taking care of her own business. The young prince is Templar Mason, but the princess... it's hard to say, really, because I've never met anyone quite like her. She seems cold, frigid even, and then kind, once you get to know her better. She lives in luxury and yet acts as if she was a simple knight – she wakes up early in the morning, trains, she's always on the move because she keeps watch over the Duke's lands... One day I woke up very early, barely past dawn (I think it was caused by overeating the night before; we feasted for a long time and some kind of meat turned out to be bad for my stomach). I stood up to open the window, to let a bit of air in. Imagine my surprise when I heard a splash and saw someone swimming in the lake! I looked harder and when they got closer to the shore I realised it was princess Cassandra, who, and I quote, 'does this to stay fit and to toughen up for the winter'. It was so early and cold, and yet she kept swimming, adamant, from the jetty to the middle of the lake and back! I must say I was impressed. Spending so much time with her, I am myself beginning to think about exercising, so you see – it's no good for me. Please remind me how you always avoid physical education classes so I could feel more at home._

_Anyway, I killed a wyvern with my own two hands! I don't suppose you're interested in all the gruesome details, but I'll only spare you a few—_

Suddenly alarmed by the clamour coming from the courtyard, Trevelyan raised her head. She put down her pen and looked out of the window, where hounds, horses and people dressed in hunting outfits milled about. As usual, the one person that stood out was the princess. Dressed in a leather breastplate and jodhpur boots, sitting comfortably in the saddle mounted atop her battle stallion, she definitely towered over the rest of the people gathered there. She must've noticed Trevelyan standing in the window because she lifted her head and, instead of doing something normal, like waving or nodding, she roused her horse, making it stand up on its hind legs. This, in turn, made all the other animals rather uneasy.

Trevelyan also noticed the arrival of chevalier de Farfois and, with slight distaste, closed her window to distance herself from the incoming buffoonery. She had to finish her letter before the messenger arrived and, what's more, she had also been given her first serious task as an enchanter. The Duchess needed a potion for indigestion and it was Trevelyan's job to prepare one. She remembered some recipes and could probably do one without the help of the books, but this time she wanted it to be one of those potions tailored to specific needs of the patient. One that worked in nine cases out of ten, not in three, like the concoctions sold by Tranquils at flea markets.

It took her until the evening, even though she didn't even have all the ingredients yet. When she came out looking for elfroot, the kitchen staff had already prepared food and drinks in the park for the hunters. Trays full of freshly baked bread, vegetables, cheese and various meat sauces were coming from the kitchen and, if the smell was to be any indication, meat was supposed to be served soon as well. Trevelyan took a bread roll from the table, still warm from the oven, and peeked out into the courtyard, where horses were being unsaddled and trophies compared.

She didn't recognise most of the hunters in the crowd, but she managed to make out the princess and the chevalier. Cassandra's expression was stern, almost threatening; she wasn't saying a word to anyone around. Axel de Farfois had his left arm awkwardly pressed to his side while his squire helped him get down from the horse. Trevelyan didn't even try to make it through all that smelly crowd. Instead she retreated to the garden, where indeed there was elfroot growing in one of the corners.

She barely managed to brush her knees off when she heard the sound of heavy stamping and angry snarls. It was the princess. She came into the garden and sat down on a bench near a line of sunflowers, still quite visibly angry. She must have not noticed Trevelyan, conveniently shielded from view by a currant bush and, well, currently in the process of standing up, crouched awkwardly.

This was one of these situations when Trevelyan, usually quite clear-headed, totally lost her ability to think clearly. What was she supposed to do now? Crouch back down? Come out? If she came out, should she say hello? If not, what should she say? 'Nice weather we have today, am I interrupting?'

Finally, she stood up and, walking briskly, faked surprise. "Lady Cassandra! What are you doing here?"

Cassandra was also surprised, but genuinely. "What are _you_ doing here?" she asked. "The feast has already begun."

"I'm picking herbs. I'm supposed to make something for your mother."

The princess patted down the place next to her on the bench, so Trevelyan sat down. "Is something the matter? I'm sorry if I'm out of line," she asked.

"An insignificant quarrel, that's all," said Cassandra, her eyes boring into the ground. "Chevalier de Farfois seems to have damaged his arm. It was an unfortunate accident."

"Does he need help?" asked Trevelyan, more out of decency than the actual desire to help him. "I could set it for—"

"No. There is no need."

Trevelyan looked at her furtively. She could've sworn it was impossible to smile with shame and spite at the same time and yet it was exactly what she saw on Cassandra's face.


	7. Chapter 7

Chevalier de Farfois excused himself from the feast soon after Trevelyan joined it. She took it with a sigh of relief because she suspected that, had he stayed, the Duke could have ordered her to take care of his injured arm. It turned out she needn't have worried as Matthias Pentaghast was too engrossed in giving his daughter nasty, stern looks. Trevelyan, who had the misfortune of having been seated between him and Cassandra, felt as if she was right between a rock and a hard place.

Luckily, at some point the Duke had to start mingling with the rest of the guests, and the princess took a seat beside her brother. Finally, Trevelyan could breathe.

"You needn't worry about that," said someone on her right side. It was the Duchess, as it turned out. Uncertain, Trevelyan squinted at her. Tigana Pentaghast was wearing a long, shimmering dress and a tippet made of chinchillas, while Trevelyan hadn’t even changed from her work clothes. "They get mad easily, but it usually doesn't last long."

Contrary to what she said during their first meeting, the Duchess rarely engaged in a discussion, were it with Trevelyan or someone else. Masking the surprise with a smile, Trevelyan shifted in her seat to face her. "So I've noticed," she said.

The Duchess continued, "It's best to get used to it." On the opposite side of the table one of the noblemen laughed loudly, slamming his cup against the tabletop and spilling some wine in the process. The Duchess seemed not to have noticed it. "And you, mistress? What are you like? I only just realised I'm living with someone I still know so little about under the same roof. For some reason it does not feel proper."

"What am I like? Moderate, I'd say," replied Trevelyan after giving the question a moment's thought. "I try to think before I act but, to be honest, it doesn't always work. But I do try."

"My daughter could use that attitude," said the Duchess, chin propped on one hand. "She's nothing if not too impulsive at times. Have you heard she rejected the attention of every suitor that has been introduced to her?"

Trevelyan's ears nearly perked up.

"I can't say I have, no."

She tried to not seem overly interested, but interested just enough for the Duchess to continue, which probably made her look as if she was in some sort of moderate pain. Tigana looked at her for a while. Finally, she smiled. There were small wrinkles in the corner of her eyes, a result of that soft smile.

"At least I still have my daughter with me," she said, brushing a stray hair away from Trevelyan's face. "Your mother doesn't have that privilege anymore."

The silence that followed was awkward, to say the least. After a couple of minutes of staring aimlessly at the table, Trevelyan finally noticed a carafe full of wine and the Duchess' empty glass.

"Would you like some wine, Your Grace?"

"Definitely. Thank you very much, my dear."

"The pleasure is mine," she said, filling both glasses. She had a feeling it would be a long evening. "You were talking about suitors...?"

"Ah, yes. It is a kind of never-ending story in our family, you could say. If someone wanted my opinion on that matter, I would say that Cassandra simply didn't give any of them a chance." The Duchess took a hefty gulp from her cup, at that exact moment reminding Trevelyan of her own mother. "I took it upon myself to personally look for some young men from respectable families. And they really were nice, nice boys who then turned into nice men. In the end the only good that came out of it was Anthony making new friends. Matthias got frustrated and Cassandra kept insisting that none of them was good enough for her."

Trevelyan nodded her head, indicating that she was listening intently. The Duchess heaved a deep sigh.

"At last I came to my senses and invited a young tournament champion from Markham, which was no small feat on my part, considering his tight schedule. Cassandra bested him in sword fight and declared him empty-headed and slow-witted. Then I decided to change my approach and found a son of a marquis from Hunter's Fell, who took delight in reading novels and was incredibly well versed in politics despite his young age. She grew bored with him quickly enough. 'I don't know what to do with him, mom,' she said, because the marquis enjoyed neither running in the forest nor hunting trips with falcons. Chevalier de Farfois, regardless of my opinion of him, is our last chance – but this time it's on my husband's. And you have probably already noticed that Matthias really does not like to admit defeat."

Trevelyan digested the newly acquired information for a while. "One could think," she started, cautious, "that lady Cassandra is an impetuous, brash person, that much is true. But, the way I see it, these are not flaws, but rather the direct consequences of her courage and determination. She just doesn't like to waste her time on something she deems unimportant. And her calm confidence is really quite admirable. Truly, in all my life I have never seen a knight better than her, and I've been surrounded by templars for a long time. In other words, n—no wonder it's so difficult to find a good match for her."

Duchess Tigana giggled sweetly.

"Ah, my Mistress Trevelyan. If I didn't know any better I'd say it is you who's quite taken with our Cassandra."

Trevelyan chuckled as well, mostly to cover her embarrassment. She kept on talking with the Duchess until Matthias Pentaghast came back to his seat, at which point she decided to take a walk and catch her breath. At the long table, heavy with all the food, the guests still feasted and after a while Trevelyan managed to make out Sigismund among them. She decided to join the guardsmen which, as it later turned out, wasn't an entirely good idea, seeing as they almost made a competition our of trying to refill her cup with wine.

When the feast moved into the direction of the stables, Trevelyan decided to carry out a small investigation into what had happened during the hunt. In order to do that, she stopped Sigismund at her side, pulling his sleeve in a rather inelegant fashion.

"You must know something!" she insisted while Sigismund kept not answering her questions. "I know you never leave her side when you go somewhere."

"It's a habit from when I used to be her squire," he muttered. "I'm sure she wouldn't want me speaking of this to anyone, but let's have it your way." He leant forward so close that Trevelyan could smell what he had just eaten. "I saw de Farfois bothering her all the time, even though she clearly didn't want to talk to him. As if he didn't know he shouldn't be doing that."

Trevelyan nodded eagerly. "And then?" she prodded.

"He said something, I couldn't hear what... But it must've been something stupid, because I swear... They were on horseback and I think she took a swing... She must have, because suddenly the guy just fell of his horse. It all happened so fast though..."

"Are you sure you didn't hear anything before that?"

"I was too far away. To be honest, I'm not even sure I saw what I saw."

"And what did you see?" asked Cassandra from behind their backs.

They both turned rapidly in her direction. Trevelyan was sure their guilty expressions were all too apparent.

"Ugh, it's nothing," said Sigismund, blushing furiously. Even his ears were red.

"Please, do tell."

Trevelyan decided to intervene. "Oh, it's quite silly," she said. "I was just asking Sigismund if he saw that marquis over there constantly winking at him. A nervous twitch, perhaps? He claims he didn't notice anything but I swear I caught him doing it at least twice."

Sigismund stood up, beginning his tactical retreat. "I think someone is calling my name. If you'll excuse me, ladies."

Cassandra shook her head, her eyes not leaving the knight quickly walking away.

"He's such a blabbermouth, one day it will get him in trouble," she said, making Trevelyan unsure about the situation she found herself in. "Would you like to take a walk with me?"

It sounded more like an order than a suggestion. Trevelyan got out from behind the table. She straightened up just as Cassandra looked at her.

"Aren't you cold?"

"Cold? No, no, it's a lovely evening."

Cassandra took charge, heading straight for the lake shore, forcing Trevelyan to walk at a brisk pace if she wanted to keep up with her. Suddenly the sound of conversation and stifled laughter reached them – it looked like other guests scattered all over the park as well.

"I've heard you talked with my mother," said Cassandra, walking, as usual, with her hands behind her back. "Earlier today."

"I did. I wanted to keep her company and we started talking."

"She told me all the good things you said about me."

"Why do I get the impression that I did something wrong? If that's the case, please tell me, don't beat around the bush. I'm still not entirely familiar with your Nevarran ways."

Cassandra stopped suddenly and rubbed the back of her head, clearly confused.

"I didn't mean it that way. I apologise, sometimes it's hard for me to convey what I do actually mean."

Trevelyan remained silent. The breeze coming from the lake was making her shiver slightly, but she wasn't about to admit that, so she just hugged herself tightly.

"When I found out what you said about me..." Cassandra frowned, so big was the effort. "I felt embarrassed."

"Why? I wasn't trying to flatter you, I was being honest," said Trevelyan, also with a certain degree of uncertainty.

"It's because I do not think what you said to be true," she said, casting a glance at Trevelyan from beneath her dark lashes. "I'm not some kind of a... role model. I do... and think things that certainly do not beseem me."

Trevelyan wanted to say something but suddenly all her mental powers left her. Instead, she felt a shiver going down her spine, were it from the breeze or something else entirely.

"You are cold." Cassandra unclasped her doublet. Underneath she only wore a thin vest that left her shoulders bare. "Take it."

"No, there's no need."

"I insist."

"This really is unnecessary," said Trevelyan, but accepted the doublet. It was warm and a bit too big.

They stood for a while in silence, looking at the dark, glimmering water of the lake. Finally, Cassandra shifted from one foot to the other, and snorted as if something had irritated or offended her. She took Trevelyan's hand and raised it to her mouth.

"Thank you for thinking such good things about me," she said and brushed her lips across the back of Trevelyan's hand. "Even though they're not entirely true."

Having done that, she walked away, heading for the lights and sounds of a still ongoing party. Trevelyan could've sworn that her athletic shoulders glistened in the faint light of the moon.

She looked at her hand, and, gathering the coattails of the doublet with another, also began walking in the direction of the tables. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the farthest one, slipping past everyone straight to her quarters. The only person she met on her way there was a guardsman who desperately needed to answer the call of nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news is that the first part is already translated and awaiting beta reading. bad news is that i'm drowning in feels which makes everything way more difficult. if you're also overwhelmed with cassandra pentaghast, come say hi @ pentasassed.tumbr.com


	8. Chapter 8

Trevelyan tended to avoid naming things. She believed that giving them names was what made them real, and this, in turn, had its consequences. Such was the case with her magic skills – she had them ever since she was born after all, but she didn't even want to admit to herself how come she could light fires without a flint or what those little blue flames dancing at the tips of her fingers sometimes at night were. It wasn't until that talent was given a name that it became both a threat and a reason for her being sent to the Circle with nothing but one chest full of her things.

Then, when she was fifteen, she couldn't take her eyes off that one handsome brown-haired adept from Antiva. For a long time she didn't have the courage to do anything more than that, but finally, having consulted it with Nimrod, she womanned up and decided to talk to him. The Antivan closed his beautiful eyes briefly and gave her a snide smile in response. The whole Circle made fun of her and her crush for the following three months.

And it's not like she couldn't recognise the signs. The way she only looked at certain parts of the body, how she watched sunlight gleaming on the surface on the skin, all that to avoid taking in the whole form; how she struggled to find the right words in seemingly ordinary situations; how something as innocent as eye contact made her all warm from head to toes. The way she, when alone, recalled come casual remark or gesture which would then make her clasp her knees and hands in a girly gesture of shameful contentment.

The cat was definitely out of the bag – Trevelyan had a crush on Cassandra, she was infatuated with her, and she walked into that entirely on her own. To make matters worse, it all came completely out of the blue – namely, because of the Duchess, blissfully unaware, in words too ridiculous to even consider them seriously. What's done was done though – fleeing from the feast with a heavy glass carafe of wine in one hand, Trevelyan finally realised that the feelings she had had all this time were nothing at all like the innocent affection she once thought it was.

She burst into her quarters, closed the door and leant against them, trying to catch her breath. First she put the carafe down on the table, but then she changed her mind, hugged it close to her chest and fell onto the bed. She couldn't form a single thought or a strategy. She wanted to run straight into the forest, but – she was still wearing that doublet, the one that, if she put your nose to its collar, smelled of leather and something peppery, something that could – but didn't have to be – a smell specific to Cassandra Pentaghast.

She lay there for a while, tracing the pattern on the canopy with her eyes and listening to the knights' laughter coming from the courtyard. Sigismund's melodic voice stood out among them. She wondered if he also was in love with Cassandra. Or if Cassandra also went to bed. Or what she was wearing.

Trevelyan fell asleep. Next thing she knew somebody was knocking at her door.

"Mistress?" It was her maid. "How are you feeling? The governess is worried because you haven't come down for breakfast."

Trevelyan used to take her breakfast in the kitchen every day, because after so many years of shared meals in the refectory she couldn't get used to eating alone. Now, judging from the amount of light coming into the room, it was definitely much later.

"I have fresh bread rolls and a fruit salad," tempted the girl from behind the closed door. "And a pitcher of fresh water for you to wash yourself."

That was what ultimately convinced Trevelyan to get up – the previous day, after all, left an imprint that would be best washed off. She put the carafe aside, took off the doublet she had slept in and opened the door.

"Good morning," she said, taking everything from the girl who kept looking at her with outright interest. "Please tell the governess that everything is alright, I just overslept a little. Thank you for your concern."

She took her meal by the window, against her better judgement looking out into the courtyard, where Cassandra was training with the guardsmen. It was probably punishment for yesterday evening, although Trevelyan wasn't sure who that punishment was meant for, since the princess who kept on pummelling the dummies in the scorching heat of midday sun was sweating as much as the guardsmen.

Trevelyan closed the window when she saw her wiping the sweat off with her gloved hand.

Determined, she avoided Cassandra for the rest of the day, trying to convince herself that the smaller the exposure, the more insignificant the effects, as it sometimes was with magical substances. She busied herself with finishing the potion for Duchess Tigana and strengthening her position at the court by offering the governess some freshly picked herbs or welcoming Duke Matthias with a critical remark about the Fereldans. It didn't help much because in the end, she still had to attend supper and sit in front of Cassandra. Admittedly, Cassandra kept her eyes fixed on the table and only answered in monosyllables; nevertheless the sound of her voice alone was enough for Trevelyan's mind to venture into the land of distant possibilities. She thought of that moment they had shared in the park and jumped in her chair, at which the Duchess sent her a confused look.

And there was that doublet. Trevelyan had to give it back and had to do it soon, so it wouldn't look odd that she kept it for such a long time. She couldn't, however, do it in front of other people, because that would only make them gossip about it, and she had to avoid all possible romantic places such as the park or the patio, because... well. She decided to wait for a completely ordinary situation to arise.

First she tried to do it in the morning, but Cassandra was swimming. Trevelyan cast a quick glance at the towel hanging over the balustrade and fled.

Come midday she peeked into the stables where she heard familiar voices. Never before had she thought that a person can look so attractive while grooming a horse. Fall back.

In the evening she stumbled upon Cassandra in the garden, the same place where they had met just before the feast. Elbows braced on her knees, Cassandra was reading. Her head was slightly tilted to one side and she kept twirling one strand of her hair around her finger, the black and white of her clothes standing out against the pastel colours of the garden. Trevelyan turned on her heel and simply left the doublet hanging over the balustrade near the stairs.

It continued for another couple of days – tactical avoidance in the daylight and long evenings with a book by the window or, alternatively, spent on sleepless staring at the canopy. Even though Trevelyan tried to convince herself that this was, somehow, for the better, this self imposed isolation didn't improve her mood at all, and the desire to be near the princess wasn't disappearing. On the contrary – it was just getting more out of hand, greater with each day, like the heat of summer.

One morning she stumbled upon a book left just at the threshold of her room. When she looked up, she saw Anthony Pentaghast walking in her direction.

"Mistress!" he greeted her cheerfully. "I have a message that will surely make your day."

Trevelyan picked up the book. "What's that?" she asked. She didn't recognise the author or the title. The cover was leather-bound and discrete.

"That?" Anthony frowned. "I have no idea, I've only just got here."

"Thank you for the gift."

"Really, it's not from me..."

"Message received, Your Grace."

"I've only ever held one book in my hands and I don't even think it was this one."

Trevelyan smiled a bit condescendingly and placed the book under her arm. "Alright, alright. What was that message then?"

"We're going dragon hunting," said Anthony, satisfaction apparent in his voice. "Supposedly one has been seen in the Western Hills. It burned down three villages. Father would like to see you after the third bell to talk about that."

Trevelyan's face fell. Anthony walked away slowly, whistling cheerfully, and she dragged herself to the kitchen for the porridge the cook fed her every day, apparently convinced that it was almost magical in its abilities to cure all evil. Waiting for it to cool down, Trevelyan opened the tome. Its title was quite inviting – _The Black Book_.

It was a collection of Nevarran legends and parables dating back to the times when Nevarra was still part of the Free Marches. They were all told by an ageing storyteller who has only just come to the village where he used to live once and where he had left the first love of his life. Trevelyan got so engaged that half of her porridge managed to get cold and she almost missed the third bell.

She had never been in Duke Matthias' official study before. It was located in the same wing the rest of the family lived, amply decorated with all the creatures the Pentaghasts managed to kill on their hunts during all these years.

"Please sit down, Mistress," said the Duke, pointing at the chair with the tip of his quill. "You probably already know that we are going hunting."

Trevelyan nodded. She had prepared some critical remarks about the Antivans, but ultimately decided it wasn't the right time.

"As far as I know it's not one of the high dragons, but a quite big one... Still, it will be a dangerous opponent," continued the Duke. "Impressed as I am with your skills, be it combat or healing – that last medicament in particular, it helped me with some issues, hm, no one has ever before—"

Two days ago Trevelyan nearly blew up the whole manor, trying to prepare a haemorrhoid ointment. Somehow she managed to successfully cover up that incident.

"—a fighting a dragon takes precise cooperation of the whole team, one that we managed to establish over many years of hunting. It is my wish that Cassandra told you of some typical strategies and showed you some scenarios that are likely to happen, at least in theory. That only leaves the matter of armour. I have commissioned one suit that would be proper for you, but it has not been made yet. My daughter will help you find something appropriate in our armoury."

Trevelyan smiled meekly.

"I wouldn't want you to burn to death, Mistress," finished the Duke magnanimously.

"I wouldn't want that either," agreed Trevelyan. She curtsied and left the chamber. Cassandra was waiting just outside the door, all cool and buttoned up.

"Let's go. We have little time and a lot to do."

She was walking so fast Trevelyan had to run up awkwardly from time to time to catch up with her. Cassandra led her to a part of the mansion she had never been in before – it was an old-fashioned chamber with low ceilings, filled with weapons and suits of armour. Some of the dusty artefacts looked very old, perhaps as old as the house Pentaghast itself.

Cassandra stopped in front of one of the racks and gave Trevelyan an appraising look, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't suppose you have worn armour before..."

"I didn't even wear breeches," joked Trevelyan which Cassandra completely ignored. She took a quilted caftan off the rack. "Should I put it on? Now?"

"That would be best."

Sheepish, Trevelyan took off her tunic and put on the caftan. It was thick and made for someone slightly heavier than herself, and it smelled weird.

"It's called a gambeson," said Cassandra indifferently, reaching for chain mail. "Now I'll help you put that on. Hands up. Be careful with your hair."

Trevelyan patted it down obediently, but the mail managed to take a few strands anyway, slipping down her neck and back. When it was finally resting comfortably on her shoulders, Trevelyan looked straight into Cassandra's face. Her mouth went completely dry.

"Has something happened?" she asked awkwardly. "I feel like something is wrong."

"No," said Cassandra curtly. "Draw your stomach in," she added and turned Trevelyan around unceremoniously, fastening a heavy scaled belt around her waist. Then she put a metal collar on her shoulders. "You're ready. Can you move?"

Tinkling and jingling like coins in a pouch, Trevelyan made a few steps.

"Surprisingly, yes. Cassandra—"

"There's no time for that." Cassandra turned on her heel. "Show me how you defend yourself."

"Sweet Andraste," muttered Trevelyan, following her with a feeling that she was finally about to meet her doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kudos and comments and bookmarks and everything! even though I'm only translating it, it really makes my day when someone enjoys it as much as I do :)


	9. Chapter 9

Cassandra dragged her all over the courtyard, apparently ignoring the fact that the only physical activity mages from the Circle took part in was running in order to get dinner. She made Trevelyan run in armour and get down suddenly, only to see how fast was she able to get up again. She had her scampering from one side of the courtyard to another, trying to show her what could and would not happen in battle. To make this humiliating performance even worse, at some point she gave Trevelyan a shield and told her to defend herself with it while she was swinging her sword at her. Trevelyan withstood one blow and then another, but after the third one she tripped over something and fell down.

She lay there for a while like a sad turtle, staring at the sky full of fluffy clouds, when suddenly a gloved hand, closely followed by Cassandra's face wearing a slightly apologetic expression, appeared in her field of vision.

"I apologise, but I had to do it," she said and pulled Trevelyan up effortlessly. "In combat it can be a difference between life and death."

"It's alright," Trevelyan lied, even though some parts of her body were still numb.

"Lady Cassandra!" called someone from the gate. "The messenger has arrived!"

"Excuse me, Mistress. Wait here for me, I'll help you with your armour." With that, Cassandra took off. Trevelyan stood there awkwardly for a couple of minutes and then started slowly in the direction of the stables to avoid making an even bigger laughing stock of herself.

She sighed, leaning against the wall. From the way her tailbone hurt she knew that sitting was out of the question.

"Our lady has worn you out?"

She turned around. Sigismund sat on a heap of straw, brushing his messy hair with his fingers.

"How can you tell?"

"I was woken up by the sounds of something colliding with the courtyard," he said and yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "Don't worry, everyone here has experienced it at least once."

"At least your odds are a bit more even," said Trevelyan glumly, pulling the gloves off. "I'd hate to sound too forward but could you perhaps help me take this off?"

"Have we reached that level in our friendship already?"

"Don't tell anyone," she said and prepared herself for taking the collar off. Sigismund was way more careful with her than Cassandra. "Thanks for your help. I wasn't born to be a warrior."

"You have other skills. Besides, I've noticed that lady Cassandra has been in a bad mood for some time now, and in a particularly bad one today."

"But why?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, putting some parts of the armour aside. "Personal matters, I think. Happens to everyone."

"How are your personal matters then?"

"Same all, same all."

"You won't tell me who this is about?"

"No." He helped her with the chain mail. "But I have a favour to ask you. It's silly, but still."

"Well, now I simply must hear it."

"There's this one guy in our unit... Crasomir," he started, somewhat embarrassed. "He thinks that girls don't like me because I walk funny."

Trevelyan rolled her eyes.

"I know of at least one girl that would love to walk funny with you. I've told you about my friend, haven't I?"

"Well, yes, but Crasomir doesn't know about her."

"Well, no, he doesn't. So what? Am I supposed to make him think that I...?"

"That would be perfect! Someone he knows, and so unavailable..."

Trevelyan was flattered for a moment, but then realised that something about that didn't sound quite right.

"What do you mean, unavailable?"

"Well..." Sigismund stuttered. "From the Circle and all that..."

"Ah, right." She nodded. "I'll turn a deaf ear to that. I have to warn you though, I don't really know how to lie. I probably don't know how to pretend either."

Sigismund wore an expression of someone who knew that he went too far, but didn't have the courage to back down.

"Thank you. If there's something I can do for you, just let me know."

"You could tell me what I'm supposed to pack."

She didn't really know how to get down to faking affection for Sigismund so she decided to keep giving him long, smouldering glances during the hunt. However, the next day her maid woke her up before dusk and Trevelyan was so sleepy her glances probably looked less smouldering and more along the lines of weird squinting. Still, she didn't have anything better to do, as the Pentaghasts rode in stubborn silence.

Sigismund told her to pack for a couple of days so she wasn't surprised when during their evening stop tents came off the carts. She didn't know, however, that, being the only other woman in party, she would have the honour of sharing one with the princess.

She crawled into their tent right after supper and lay down with her eyes tightly shut, hoping she would fall asleep quickly. Naturally, it didn't happen, because the people who were still gathered around the fire started an animated discussion about politics and even when they fell silent, there were the sputtering horses and something swishing in the bushes. Then a figure appeared in the entrance of the tent. The figure sighed, shoved away the outer covering of the tent and slipped inside.

"Are you asleep?" asked Cassandra, jumping on one foot trying to pull her boot off.

"No. I'm not used to sleeping outdoors."

"Right," said Cassandra but didn't continue.

They lay there for a while in awkward silence, when finally Trevelyan couldn't help it and caught a glimpse of Cassandra with the corner of her eye. She saw her stubborn, slightly pert profile and eyes fixed on the tent's ceiling.

"Hmm," started Trevelyan, unable to bear the silence anymore. "Tomorrow is going to be a hard day."

"That is why we should be asleep already."

"Indeed. That we should be."

She closed her eyes, intent on falling asleep. Earlier today she came up with so many scenarios, so many schemes, but now she lay there, unbelievably tense, unable to do anything, even to calm herself down. Even her own breath sounded false.

"Trevelyan," Cassandra finally spoke, her voice gentler than before. "I can feel you wanting to do something girly over there."

It wasn't exactly that, but Trevelyan rolled onto her other side anyway.

"You can?"

"Like when we went to the privy together." Cassandra also turned to her side and put one hand under her cheek. "Tell me this then. Have you ever been in love?"

"What? Me? Well, yes, of course. And you? Why do you ask?"

"Because I've always thought it was supposed to be something good, but it isn't." She looked at something over Trevelyan's shoulder. "In books and songs everyone always wants to be in love, they are so inspired, so... elated. I don't understand it."

"Why?"

"Because it's theft. It's a robbery. It takes away your sense of reason, your peace of mind, it doesn't let you enjoy the simple every-day reality. You're no longer yourself and you're never whole."

"I think you're right. Fiction doesn't mirror reality after all."

"Shouldn't it picture an ideal though?" asked Cassandra, her voice serious.

"I don't know. I wouldn't say it does. It shows our wishes, our desires. It's not the same as ideals."

Cassandra didn't speak anymore and Trevelyan thought about it frantically until she fell asleep. When she woke up it was already bright outside and she could see the outline of Cassandra's body, who kicked off her blanket in her sleep. There was the indentation in the small of her back, the arm she put around the folded coat her head rested on, the calm face, the small sheen of light on her cheekbone. She must have sensed that someone was staring at her because she opened her eyes and looked straight at Trevelyan. In that moment there were no whistling guardsmen outside, no chirping sparrows in the thicket. Even the slightly chilly air in the tent didn't matter.

Trevelyan was the first to break the spell – she averted her gaze completely. Cassandra grabbed her boots.

"I'm going to wash myself in the stream. See you at breakfast."

She came back buttoned up to the neck, all in black and red. Trevelyan stared at her jodhpur boots all morning because she didn't feel brave enough to do anything else. It wasn't until Sigismund poked her gently in the side that she noticed him.

"What? Yes, I remember."

It was, actually, a relief, seeing as Trevelyan's resolutions were coming apart at the seams one by one. Sigismund's freckled face and red hair were as good things as any to fix her eyes on while she thought about said resolutions – where she took them from and what she wanted to do with them. During their next stop, claiming that she needed a quiet place in the forest all for herself, she excused herself from the company and went away to pick some wild flowers. She hid them under her tunic and then put them, slightly wilted already, on Cassandra's bedroll in their tent. She wasn't brave enough to stay there and see it through, so she remained sitting by the fire long enough to make sure she would be the second one of them to fall asleep. When she finally crawled into the tent, Cassandra had her back turned to her and the flowers were nowhere to be seen.

Trevelyan went to sleep miserable and felt disgruntled for the whole next day. Come midday the hills finally started to appear on the horizon. A couple of hours later they set camp and the hunters left to test the waters. Trevelyan had the honour of staying in the camp with Duke Matthias and his manservant. When she used up all the topics meant for polite conversation, there was nothing else left for her to do but crawl into her tent with a book. She illuminated the tent with a small ball of light, a habit known to most mages, and soon found herself so engrossed in the book she didn't even notice that the hunters came back.

Suddenly, Cassandra burst into the tent, cast a distrustful look at the magic light and fell down onto her bedroll, her armour still on.

"Do you like the book?" she asked, unbuckling her sword belt.

"Very much. It's like the world doesn't exist when I'm reading it."

Cassandra smiled morosely and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Which story is your favourite?"

"I haven't decided yet because I haven't read them all. Listen, Cassandra, I'm sorry I didn't realise right away it was a gift from you."

"It's alright," said Cassandra, her voice clearly suggesting that it was in fact far from alright. Trevelyan remembered the mood she was in that day. "It is one of the first books I found really enjoyable. Naturally, when I read it for the first time I was too young to understand everything."

Trevelyan nodded. References to sex weren't exactly hard to catch, but they weren't too straightforward either.

"Anyway, thank you for that thoughtful gift."

"You're welcome." Cassandra moved and winced.

"Did you hurt yourself? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm tired and we were walking for hours in rough terrain."

"I can help you." Trevelyan made the magic light go away, put the book down and rubbed her hands together. "It's nothing scary. You can stop with these suspicious looks now."

"Alright," said Cassandra after a moment's hesitation. Hissing in pain, she took some of her clothes off, stopping at her shirt. "I might have fallen down a couple of times in these hills."

"Obviously. Sit down, please." Trevelyan kneeled next to her and rubbed some lotion she usually used as perfume into her hands. Then she touched Cassandra's shoulders, inhaled deeply and let the warmth flow through her fingers. Cassandra twitched, but soon relaxed visibly. "It's just a little trick I learned... during my travels."

She massaged Cassandra's stiff shoulders for a while and then moved her hands lower down her back, trying to locate the hurting spot. When she found it, she put her warm hand there and Cassandra sighed briefly.

"Better now?"

"It is. Thank you, Trevelyan."

When she woke up in the middle of the night, there was a warm body right behind her and a strong arm thrown over her waist.


	10. Chapter 10

The dragon fell fairly quickly, but the way to its lair and back made Trevelyan painfully aware that even if she weren't a mage, she certainly wouldn't make for a good knight. A whining, whimsical battle mage she could be, she was already doing a fine job of it as it was. A stoic, strong warrior pushing forward despite all odds – not really.

They had been wading through mud up the hill for two hours now. On the surface Trevelyan was soaked from the rain, and underneath her clothes – from sweat, as she was carrying not only herself but also the armour she was in.

"Wasn't this dragon suppose to be in some village?" she asked the person closest to her, hoping to bond over the hardships of the hunt. It was, as it turned out, Anthony Pentaghast. "Somewhere lower?"

"It was there." Anthony was walking briskly even though he carried more equipment than Trevelyan did. "It ran away though. That is why we were following it for such a long time yesterday."

"And why aren't we on horseback?"

He gave her a look as if the answer to that question was completely obvious. "Because the terrain is too rough," he said.

"Ah, I see. It's too rough for the horses, but not for us."

"Careful!" called Cassandra from the forefront. "This fragment is dangerous. Easy to slip!"

"Give me your hand, Mistress," said Anthony. "I'll help you."

"Thank you, I'll be fine." Trevelyan bravely, if somewhat gracelessly jumped over the treacherous gap. "Or I'll die," she added quietly, but the prince must've heard it because he snorted.

The dragon found itself a spot in a small cave located just above a muddy hollow, one that on rainy days was probably a pond. It was a clever choice on the dragon's part as it forced the whole team to slosh about in mud for about an hour, which was how long it took them to kill it. Trevelyan managed not to stand in anyone's way and even cast a new battle spell, one that she learned during the 'avoid Cassandra' period. There was one dangerous situation when the dragon swept both Duke Matthias and Cassandra off their feet with one blow of its tail – luckily the mud cushioned the fall, while Anthony and Trevelyan managed to grab its attention for the time the two of them needed to get back on their feet.

Challenging terrain also wouldn't allow for the trophy to be loaded onto the carts, and so the guardsmen immediately got down to flaying the corpse. Trevelyan, still a bit shocked after combat, started treating some minor injuries – like that of Duke Matthias, whose ribs were bruised.

"You did good," he said as Trevelyan was trying to locate the most painful spot, which made the whole situation even more awkward. "For a mage."

"And you're in excellent form for your age, Your Grace," she shot back and immediately followed with a frightened look, at which he only laughed.

"Thank you for your kind words, Mistress. And how is your father?"

"He's alright, although he does suffer from rheumatism from time to time. Our keep is quite cold. I guess it's because it is quite unfortunately located on the more windy side of the mountain."

"Do you find our manor to your tastes?"

"Very much so! It's lovely." Just as lovely as that conversation was surreal. The Duke was covered in mud and Trevelyan was feeling for his kidney. "I suppose autumn will be beautiful. It was often rainy at our place."

"The pleasure is ours. I must admit I had some doubts whether to take you in. They are mostly resolved now."

Trevelyan smiled nervously, trying not to think about what the Duke would say about her attraction to his daughter, which must have awakened the proverbial sleeping dog.

"Cassandra, come here," said the Duke and waved his hand at her. "Mistress Trevelyan will check if you're all right."

Trevelyan went pale. It was difficult to say with Cassandra, since she also was covered in mud.

"There's no need. I'm fine."

Duke Matthias clapped his hands against his thighs, apparently oblivious of the awkwardness surrounding them.

"Then we can move on. Guards, march out!"

The guardsmen stuffed the remains of the dragon into the bags and the whole expedition slowly set about going back. Trevelyan, who wasn't careful enough, slid down a part of the slope on her butt, finally grateful for the chain mail that protected some parts of her body from bruising. She was too tired to feel ashamed.

There was hot soup waiting for them in the main camp at the foot of the hill. Trevelyan wolfed down the first bowl still standing. It was slowly getting dark when she grabbed a change of clothes and a towel and started walking in the direction of the stream to wash all the mountain dirt off of herself. She was so preoccupied with making sure no one was following her that she didn't notice that the spot she had chosen was already occupied until it was too late.

The water bouncing off the rocks stifled the noise, but the clothes hanging on the branches didn't leave any doubts whatsoever that someone was already there. Trevelyan wanted to go back, but she took one step too far and then, from behind a tree, she noticed a person, bent over rather inelegantly, absorbed with washing their legs. With a feeling of impending doom, Trevelyan recognised Cassandra, who straightened up suddenly, not leaving anything to the imagination. Backlit, standing against the slowly setting sun, she looked like a war goddess and in that moment Trevelyan was ready to die on the battlefield with no regrets at all.

"What are you doing in that thicket, Trevelyan?" asked the goddess, grabbing the towel and using it to dry off her glistening chest.

"I was looking for a good spot to wash myself," croaked Trevelyan. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, I didn't notice you until it was t—too late."

"You're in the right place." Cassandra tied the towel around her waist unceremoniously, which Trevelyan noticed out of the corner of her eye because she tried not to look straight at her. "This spot is the best. The water is ice cold though."

"That won't be bothering me."

When she washed off the dirt from her face and hair, Cassandra had already disappeared. The stream was indeed cold, as if it was coming down from the Frostback Mountains themselves, but Trevelyan poured the water over herself zealously, trying to forget certain dusky, firm body parts.

That night, full of frantic half dreams, half wishful thinking was probably the most beautiful and definitely the most frustrating of her life. As charmed as she had been with that mysterious noblewoman who came to the Circle to thank her, it was nothing compared to the things she now knew about her.

The next day they set off shortly after dusk, intent on covering as much distance as they could and didn't stop until the evening, when they reached a tavern. Trevelyan, who spent the whole day selflessly staring at Sigismund, decided it was about time she stopped, especially since he caught her looking a few times and tried to start a conversation. She didn't feel like talking.

She was so dumbfounded by everything that happened and by that almost sleepless night, she couldn't really participate in the celebrations – unlike Cassandra, who drank passionately, helping Anthony list every big achievement the Pentaghasts had on the battlefield as if everything was perfectly normal. When there was nothing but wine left on the table, she excused herself and left. Trevelyan, already a bit drunk after two glasses, didn't even have the chance to offer Cassandra her company.

Some time passed and she still wasn't coming back, so Trevelyan, concerned although there wasn’t any reason for it, decided to go look for her. This time at least she knew where to check first – like most taverns, this one also had a figure of Andraste, a patron to all travellers, standing outside. A familiar figure was leaning over it.

"Cassandra? Are you—?"

"I'm praying."

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You are not." Cassandra turned on her heel, blocking almost the entire statue from view. "Actually, it was about you. It was clues I was praying for."

"Clues?"

"Exactly." Cassandra took a step in her direction. "I'm in a quandary. I try to court you and you ignore my gifts."

"It was a misunderstanding," said Trevelyan hurriedly. "A simple misunderstanding..."

"You don't wear the jewellery I gave you." With her forefinger, Cassandra lifted a wooden necklace Trevelyan usually wore under her robes. "You don't thank me for the book. I'm not one to overthink things, so I've decided I'm simply not in your good graces. I've also noticed you seem to be interested in Sigi and I'm starting to wonder whether you're just one of these whimsical girls who like to—"

"No! I mean yes, I am one of those girls, but I don't like Sigismund that way! He asked me to fake it for the sake of his friend, that tall one, with a beard..."

Cassandra shook her head.

"And then you bring me flowers, but you don't say anything about it afterwards."

"I thought you threw them away," said Trevelyan quietly.

"I didn't throw away your stupid flowers!" Cassandra ripped them out from the inside pocket of her doublet, where she usually kept her correspondence. The flowers had wilted away but hadn't managed to dry yet; they were a pitiful sight. "And then... your healing hands and that scene by the stream. What is the meaning of this, because I cannot fathom it?"

"Cassandra..." Trevelyan spread out her arms. "I also don't know what to think about all that. You see... it's not that easy for me. For the love of the Maker, you are a princess! One day everyone will be kowtowing before you because you'll be fourth in line to the throne!"

"Tenth," said Cassandra stubbornly.

"Okay, tenth. And I'll still be but a simple mage from the Circle, someone who can be taken away by the templars any day, any minute, with no control whatsoever over my life..."

"What is the point you're trying to make?"

"That... I don't know, that we're not right for each other. That maybe you should look for someone who would be a better match for you—"

"I've met plenty of them," snapped Cassandra. "Mum has surely told you the story, it's her favourite one to tell during every feast. Wild, uncouth Cassandra, rejecting every suitor. Every single one of them was more interested in my parents' lands or in besting me, be that in combat or in bed." She stopped suddenly and bit her lip. Then she looked straight at Trevelyan. "And I don't like it when someone tells me how I ought to feel. My feelings are mine to feel the way I want to and no one can ever take it away from me."

"I'm not trying to do that. I'm trying to find some method in this madness..." She stopped when she saw Cassandra's face. Until recently she thought the sentiments about stormy looks or eyes exaggerated, but now she knew they were real – what she saw there was like a tempest, dangerous yet magnetic at the same time.

"The void take it," said Trevelyan. She grabbed Cassandra by the collar and kissed her forcefully. Their mouths and teeth clashed painfully but then Cassandra regained her footing and grabbed her neck. Trevelyan expected her to change that kiss into something more balanced, gentler even, but Cassandra only tilted her head to the side and opened her mouth for something very deep and indecent. She moaned deeply when Trevelyan put her hand in her hair and then hugged Trevelyan so tight, she could swear her feet came off the ground.

Never before had she experienced something like this during all her, admittedly short, life. Incidentally, neither had Cassandra – she gave her a bewildered look, her face charmingly red as she was trying to catch her breath.

"I couldn't care less about all that, Trevelyan," she said, her hand resting comfortably on Trevelyan's neck. "The titles you have, the position you don't have. It doesn't determine how I feel about you."

"And how is that?" asked Trevelyan, breathless.

Cassandra kissed her wordlessly. There they were, standing in the middle of the dark backyard, ankle-deep in grass, caught between the sounds of a summer night and a noisy evening in the tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did :) I already started working on the second part, I hope I'll be able to post every two days! find me on tumblr @ pentasassed.tumblr.com


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